by Lily Harlem
“A Geordie, someone from Newcastle. They are as tough as nails, the lot of them.”
He took a long slug of his drink. The ice clinked. I wished I could see his eyes. His dark, featureless shades were unnerving.
“The Vipers are pretty tough too,” he said.
“I don’t doubt it for a second. I’m just saying, it’s not good to get cocky and always presume you’ll win. Pride before a fall and all that.”
He huffed. “Yeah, tell me about it.
“Go on then.”
“What?”
“Tell me about it.” I filled my fingertips with cream and set about slathering my cheeks, throat and collarbones. Poked under the neckline of my swimsuit and coated the swell of my breasts. There was nothing more painful than burned cleavage, I could testify to that after a trip to Thailand several years previously.
He cleared his throat, shifting on his seat. “I don’t understand what you mean, Fiona.”
I glanced up from my task. Hearing him say my name in his rumbling, moody voice had made something unnervingly like sexual interest pop in my belly. “Tell me about your leg,” I said, trying to act casual. “Why you got back on the ice before it was fully recovered.”
“I thought it was.” He shook his head. “Or at least as good as it ever was going to be. I’d had the op, done the physical therapy, taken time off. What more could I do?”
“You should have had more investigations to make sure there wasn’t something else going on.”
“I did, the MRI was clear. It was just me being a complete lightweight with the pain.”
I gathered some cream from the lid and rubbed it onto the bridge of my nose. “I don’t think you’re a lightweight with pain.”
He laughed, but not with humor. “Of course you do. Hell, Fergal had to hire you to help with my damn useless body.”
“But it’s not your fault. Pain is nature’s way of making you take notice of a problem. If you have pain, it needs sorting, otherwise the situation goes from bad to worse.”
“You mean like my leg?”
“Yes, your leg, your shoulder. You need a proper rest, a combination of treatments and you need to stop blaming yourself for getting injured and having discomfort.”
“I don’t blame myself.”
“So who do you blame?”
He sighed and took off his shades. “No one. It’s just complicated, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Because hockey is my life. Not playing is like having a huge chunk of who I am taken away. I maybe don’t get the glory of scoring points. And generally people just think of me as a chunk of meat opponents have to try and get the puck past, but still, I’m a top defenseman and for that I need my damn body to be in perfect condition. If I don’t have that, what do I have?”
I rubbed cream over the tops of my legs.
“Imagine,” he said, “a sculptor losing his hands or a fighter pilot going blind. Their lives would be over.” He frowned and his eyes narrowed. “What do they say then when people ask what they do for a living?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a hockey player, Fiona. If I can’t play hockey, what the hell am I? Who am I?”
There was something in his tone that tugged at my heart. There was more going on with Raven than just his aches and pains. He was a man who saw himself standing on the edge of a cliff, his career teetering, and with that his identity. Which seemed strange really. Given his big, dominant presence, it was hard to believe his confidence could be so shaken with a few muscle and tendon issues. “You must have other things you can do beside skate and hit pucks.”
He sighed. “I did okay at college but I was playing semiprofessionally by the time I graduated so I didn’t put in the effort I should. My career path was set, I just wanted to head out of Arizona and get on with it. I stayed in college to keep everyone else happy.”
“Why did you want to head out of Arizona?”
“It wasn’t that I wanted out of Arizona, or even off the reservation I grew up on. I just wanted to see the world. I had the wanderlust that most teenage boys have, and because of a new, forward thinking head teacher, I’d had access to a rink which ultimately gave me a way to feed that desire for exploring.”
“Hot kind of a place to keep all that ice.” A rink, in the desert. It hardly made sense.
“Yeah, I guess so. Never really thought of it like that even though it was where I spent most of my time.”
“Playing hockey?”
“Yep, I had a knack for hockey, all right. I wasn’t scared of taking hits, I was fast and I always showed up on time. Soon I was on the Phoenix youth team, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“So did you graduate? Even though you were playing so much?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“And what was your best subject at college?”
“History.” He half smiled. “Always fascinated me, especially American history—the civil war, Native Americans, independence.”
“Nothing I know very much about I’m afraid.”
“You should look into it. It’s fascinating.” He paused. “Though maybe more to me than you, since my ancestors are part of that history and I owe it to them to understand their suffering and struggles.”
“Owe it to them. That’s a nice way to look at it.”
“It’s all about respecting elders and those who have gone before. Without them we wouldn’t be here. One day we will be the elders and hopefully, if we live our lives right, will also be respected and remembered.”
I rubbed a final blob of sun cream onto my arms. “What was it like, growing up on a reservation?”
“The same as growing up anywhere, I guess. There are good times and bad times, celebrations and traditions. I wouldn’t change it. I felt nurtured by my extended family and my community. No childhood gripes to blame adult failings on.”
I nodded. “Talking of elders, what age will you retire from hockey? I’m presuming there are always younger players after your spot.”
“Yeah, they’re snapping at your heels once you hit thirty and always lurking in the background waiting for shit like this to happen.” He gestured toward his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I didn’t think it would be an issue for another five years or so but now I’m not so sure.”
“It’s not like you need the cash.”
He twisted his head and looked at his sprawling home. “No, I’m set up financially, so is my family.”
“Your parents?”
“Just my mother. She raised me and my sister Petra single-handedly, and now lives with Petra and her husband and two kids. I bought them a bigger place on the reservation with some land several years back. They’re happy, the kids are growing up fast and loving life and Mom gets to spend as much time as she wants with her grandchildren. She’s content in her old age.”
“That was kind of you.”
“It was the natural thing to do. Knowing they’re all secure means I can sleep at night and concentrate when I’m on the ice.”
“That must mean a lot to you.”
“Yeah, family is important.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
I studied him for a second, then wiped my hands on my robe and pushed my hair behind my ears. “I’m going to take the needles out now.” I stood and moved behind him, leaving my robe on the lounger. “But you still haven’t told me what you’ll do when you finish playing.” I set about removing the needles and dropping them into my small sharps bin.
“Raven?”
“Not training and hanging out with the guys, having games to look forward to—it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“But you’ll have to one day.”
Another prolonged silence.
“What do you—?”
“One day,” he interrupted, “I’ll have to think about it. But not today.”
“But—”
“You can’t fix everything, Fiona.” His voice was low and stee
ly again. He replaced his shades. “So forget it.”
I pulled out the last needle and discarded it. Rolled my lips in on themselves. I didn’t want to force an issue he wasn’t ready to face. I needed him relaxed for his therapy to work properly.
It was a shame though. The surly Raven I’d become used to had switched to a man whose past intrigued me and whose future was now, to some degree, in my hands. Talking about worries and concerns helped, even he couldn’t argue that point. Perhaps he would open up to me again during my stay here.
“Is your pool warm?” I asked, forcing my tone light.
“Should be.”
“Good, the exercises are best done in warm water.”
I walked over to the steps and dunked my foot in. The air was so hot I was expecting to feel a chill. But the pool was deliciously warm, perfect, in fact. I looked over at him and smiled. “Come on, you can get up now.”
Letting my fingers tickle through the water, I headed down the steps. Pushed off and swam several lazy strokes, loving the way the water caressed my tired limbs. Tentatively I searched for the bottom, found it and turned.
I gasped. Raven was right behind me, still wearing his shades, the water bobbing across his small, dark nipples. I hadn’t expected him to be in the pool so quickly and certainly not right up close. Last time I’d seen him he’d been sitting on the lounger.
“It’s deep,” I said, going on tiptoes so my neck was comfortably out of the water.
“Yeah.” He reached out and, with a wet, dripping finger touched my nose.
I froze and felt myself go cross-eyed as he swiped the pad of his index finger onto my cheek.
“Cream,” he said. “You had sunblock on your nose.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
Silence.
“Can we go a bit shallower? It’s a bit deep here for me.”
He nodded, turned and led the way back toward the steps.
“How is your shoulder feeling?” I asked when I was at a more comfortable depth.
“Better, thanks.” He spun to face me, a few droplets of water sat like beads in the small scribble of hair at his sternum.
Part of me knew I should get more specifics out of him regarding his pain, but I guessed that wasn’t going to happen.
“You’ll have to drop down a bit,” I said, “so your shoulder is submerged. How about sitting on the steps so your leg isn’t under any undue strain?”
Silently he moved to the steps, sat and faced me.
I moved over to him. The sound of the water flowing around me was loud and the pressure an extra effort for my fatigued body. I could still feel the skin on my face tingling where he’d just touched me.
Holding out my hands, I looked at his tattoo again, blurred and hazy through the water lapping around his neck. “Can I touch you?”
“Sure.”
There it was again. The way he spoke, the growl that held something more. Irritation, tolerance, but also amusement, no, that wasn’t right, interest maybe, curiosity.
No, he isn’t interested in me. I’m being silly.
“Let your arm lay heavy in my hands,” I said, maneuvering between his spread knees so I could take his forearm in my palms. “And let me do the work, but remember the movements, because you’ll need to do some of them yourself tomorrow.”
Silence.
I worked through the standard set of moves for a shoulder, a couple of times resting my hand on his deltoid and feeling for any creaks or crackles in the joint. He just continued to stare straight ahead, whether he was looking at me or not, I had no idea. He could have just been gazing over my shoulder into space, passing the time, humoring both me and Fergal by having treatment. Who knew?
Nestled between his thighs was an intimate position. As a general rule I wouldn’t have noticed it. Being up close and personal with patients of all ages, male and female, was part of my job. Personal space boundaries were very different for physiotherapists, it was as though normal rules didn’t apply.
But standing next to Raven, a big, brooding hockey star who looked and acted like a dangerous predator but had a soft, vulnerable side, who cared for his family and worried about his future, was making funny things happen to my exhausted nerves. They were skittering this way and that. Buzzing with the close proximity of his honed, athletic body the same way they had when I’d first met him, first seen him standing in just his boxers looking like the main attraction of a vast array of dirty dreams.
“How is it feeling?” I asked when I came to the end of the treatment. I hoped my nipples weren’t jutting out too obviously. They were tight and tingling, my breasts heavy. They didn’t seem to care about the fact Raven was rude and obnoxious ninety-nine percent of the time. They just saw hot man-muscle and set up pathways of awareness to every erogenous zone in my body.
He swallowed, the tendons on his neck stretching as he did so. “Better.”
“Good.” I started to move away but suddenly he clamped his thighs around my body, pinning me between his legs.
I gasped. “What…?” I was knocked off balance and had to rest my hands on his chest to stop from falling onto him. My heart rate rattled up several notches at the feel of rock-hard pecs beneath my palms.
“As you seem so interested in my future, I’d just like to set the record straight,” he said, positioning his shades on top of his head and staring into my eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I am interested in women, in a sexual and damn appreciative kind of way.”
“Of course, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have suggested otherwise, it was insensitive and…” My words trailed off and I glanced at a patch of vegetation beyond the screen.
“And?”
“And I was just teasing you, looking for a reaction.”
He pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “Teasing me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I figured you deserved it after all your sulking.”
“I do not sulk.”
“Oh, you must know you do.” I squirmed within his hold. He didn’t ease up even a fraction.
“No one has ever teased me before.”
“They haven’t?” I stilled. “Not even your family?”
“No.”
“Well, I guess there’s a first for everything.” I smiled, feeling unaccountably pleased that I’d gotten to him in a way no one else had dared.
Suddenly he snatched me closer, pulled me up against his hard body. A tremble moved up my spine. I should resist, push him away. But I couldn’t, I was wrapped up in him and it felt wonderful. “What, what are you doing?” I whispered.
One side of his mouth twitched and he glanced downward.
I followed his gaze, spotted my traitorous nipples jutting through the Lycra of my swimsuit as if they were two pebbles—eager for touch, eager for sensation.
I looked back up and our gazes connected.
His eyes swirled as though they were deep liquid vats of treacle.
My cheeks were on fire, my breaths coming short and shallow. My heart felt as if it were about to thump right out of my chest.
Reaching forward, he brushed his knuckles over my nipple.
I stuttered in a breath. What was I doing? What was he doing? He repeated the action on my other breast. A shudder shook my chest at the same time a small whimper escaped my lips.
It had been several months since I’d had sex, and that had been a drunken one-night stand with a doctor after a departmental party. So being touched by a big male hand when my body was supersensitized because of sleep deprivation was enough to set my pussy throbbing and my lust into overdrive.
“Fiona,” he whispered, “tell me something?”
“Mmm?” I braced my spine as he cupped my breast and molded it to his palm. I wanted more, so much more of what he was doing. “What?” I fluttered my eyes shut.
“How does it feel to be teased?”
I opened my eyes but my focus was blurred.
“What?”
“How does it feel to be teased?” He released my breast, shifted his legs and rose from the water. Rivers, streams and drips, poured from his body and splashed around me, washing away my desire in an instant and clearing my focus.
Anger and frustration tore through me. I stared up at him standing at the side of the pool, all wet and gorgeous and full of self-righteousness.
Bastard.
Minutes ago I thought he had a soft, sweeter side; seconds ago I’d been considering getting primitive with him, but now, as far as I was concerned, he could rot in hockey-injury hell.
He dropped his shades over his eyes and reached for a towel.
“What the devil was that all about?” I snapped, stomping up the steps.
He shrugged, both shoulders. “Just returning the favor.”
“I didn’t tease you like that. That was humiliating. Not to mention one great big step over the professional-patient line we’re supposed to have.”
“You didn’t stop me.”
“You shouldn’t have started it.” I was standing in front of him now, pulling my robe around my aroused breasts.
“I didn’t start it.”
“You most certainly did.” I poked at the center of his chest with my index finger. Little red spots of rage danced in my vision.
“No, Pumpkin, you started it by saying I wasn’t interested in women. I wanted to prove to you that I was.”
“Touching my breasts does not prove that you’re into women.”
He made a scoffing sound.
I wanted to hit him. Slap my hand over his cheek so hard it left a print. It was all I could do not to stamp my foot in frustration. “It proves nothing whatsoever,” I hissed.
“What do you mean?” he rumbled, stepping backward so I could no longer prod him.
“I mean, touching a woman is all very well, but unless it is accompanied by a…a…” My words stuck in my mouth. I was mad, mad as hell and I knew I said things I later regretted when I was mad.
“By a…?” he asked.
Fuck it.
“A hard-on. Unless your dick stands to attention then it means nothing.”
“Oh believe me, a beautiful woman between my legs, a damn cute tittie in my hand, I’m hard, all right. You wanna come and check it out?” He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his shorts. “You can if you want. If you need absolute proof, I’m happy to show you.” He started to pull his shorts down over what I now noticed was quite a tenting. “I’m not in the slightest bit shy.”
